War and Peace

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word, I got that frightened!’ said he, as if bragging of 

having been frightened. 

That one also passed. Then followed a cart unlike any 

that had gone before. It was a German cart with a pair of 

horses led by a German, and seemed loaded with a whole 

houseful of effects. A fine brindled cow with a large 

udder was attached to the cart behind. A woman with an 

unweaned baby, an old woman, and a healthy German girl 

with bright red cheeks were sitting on some feather beds. 

Evidently these fugitives were allowed to pass by special 

permission. The eyes of all the soldiers turned toward the 

women, and while the vehicle was passing at foot pace all 

the soldiers’ remarks related to the two young ones. Every 

face bore almost the same smile, expressing unseemly 

thoughts about the women. 

‘Just see, the German sausage is making tracks, too!’ 

‘Sell me the missis,’ said another soldier, addressing 

the German, who, angry and frightened, strode 

energetically along with downcast eyes. 

‘See how smart she’s made herself! Oh, the devils!’ 

‘There, Fedotov, you should be quartered on them!’ 

‘I have seen as much before now, mate!’ 

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‘Where are you going?’ asked an infantry officer who 

was eating an apple, also half smiling as he looked at the 

handsome girl. 

The German closed his eyes, signifying that he did not 

understand. 

‘Take it if you like,’ said the officer, giving the girl an 

apple. 

The girl smiled and took it. Nesvitski like the rest of 

the men on the bridge did not take his eyes off the women 

till they had passed. When they had gone by, the same 

stream of soldiers followed, with the same kind of talk, 

and at last all stopped. As often happens, the horses of a 

convoy wagon became restive at the end of the bridge, 

and the whole crowd had to wait. 

‘And why are they stopping? There’s no proper order!’ 

said the soldiers. ‘Where are you shoving to? Devil take 

you! Can’t you wait? It’ll be worse if he fires the bridge. 

See, here’s an officer jammed in too’- different voices 

were saying in the crowd, as the men looked at one 

another, and all pressed toward the exit from the bridge. 

Looking down at the waters of the Enns under the 

bridge, Nesvitski suddenly heard a sound new to him, of 

something swiftly approaching... something big, that 

splashed into the water. 

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‘Just see where it carries to!’ a soldier near by said 

sternly, looking round at the sound. 

‘Encouraging us to get along quicker,’ said another 

uneasily. 

The crowd moved on again. Nesvitski realized that it 

was a cannon ball. 

‘Hey, Cossack, my horse!’ he said. ‘Now, then, you 

there! get out of the way! Make way!’ 

With great difficulty he managed to get to his horse, 

and shouting continually he moved on. The soldiers 

squeezed themselves to make way for him, but again 

pressed on him so that they jammed his leg, and those 

nearest him were not to blame for they were themselves 

pressed still harder from behind. 

‘Nesvitski, Nesvitski! you numskull!’ came a hoarse 

voice from behind him. 

Nesvitski looked round and saw, some fifteen paces 

away but separated by the living mass of moving infantry, 

Vaska Denisov, red and shaggy, with his cap on the back 

of his black head and a cloak hanging jauntily over his 

shoulder. 

‘Tell these devils, these fiends, to let me pass!’ shouted 

Denisov evidently in a fit of rage, his coal-black eyes with 

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their bloodshot whites glittering and rolling as he waved 

his sheathed saber in a small bare hand as red as his face. 

‘Ah, Vaska!’ joyfully replied Nesvitski. ‘What’s up 

with you?’ 

‘The squadwon can’t pass,’ shouted Vaska Denisov, 

showing his white teeth fiercely and spurring his black 

thoroughbred Arab, which twitched its ears as the 

bayonets touched it, and snorted, spurting white foam 

from his bit, tramping the planks of the bridge with his 

hoofs, and apparently ready to jump over the railings had 

his rider let him. ‘What is this? They’re like sheep! Just 

like sheep! Out of the way!... Let us pass!... Stop there, 

you devil with the cart! I’ll hack you with my saber!’ he 

shouted, actually drawing his saber from its scabbard and 

flourishing it 

The soldiers crowded against one another with terrified 

faces, and Denisov joined Nesvitski. 

‘How’s it you’re not drunk today?’ said Nesvitski 

when the other had ridden up to him. 

‘They don’t even give one time to dwink!’ answered 

Vaska Denisov. ‘They keep dwagging the wegiment to 

and fwo all day. If they mean to fight, let’s fight. But the 

devil knows what this is.’ 

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‘What a dandy you are today!’ said Nesvitski, looking 

at Denisov’s new cloak and saddlecloth. 

Denisov smiled, took out of his sabretache a 

handkerchief that diffused a smell of perfume, and put it 

to Nesvitski’s nose. 

‘Of course. I’m going into action! I’ve shaved, 

bwushed my teeth, and scented myself.’ 

The imposing figure of Nesvitski followed by his 

Cossack, and the determination of Denisov who 

flourished his sword and shouted frantically, had such an 

effect that they managed to squeeze through to the farther 

side of the bridge and stopped the infantry. Beside the 

bridge Nesvitski found the colonel to whom he had to 

deliver the order, and having done this he rode back. 

Having cleared the way Denisov stopped at the end of 

the bridge. Carelessly holding in his stallion that was 

neighing and pawing the ground, eager to rejoin its 

fellows, he watched his squadron draw nearer. Then the 

clang of hoofs, as of several horses galloping, resounded 

on the planks of the bridge, and the squadron, officers in 

front and men four abreast, spread across the bridge and 

began to emerge on his side of it. 

The infantry who had been stopped crowded near the 

bridge in the trampled mud and gazed with that particular 

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feeling of ill-will, estrangement, and ridicule with which 

troops of different arms usually encounter one another at 

the clean, smart hussars who moved past them in regular 

order. 

‘Smart lads! Only fit for a fair!’ said one. 

‘What good are they? They’re led about just for show!’ 

remarked another. 

‘Don’t kick up the dust, you infantry!’ jested an hussar 

whose prancing horse had splashed mud over some foot 

soldiers. 

‘I’d like to put you on a two days’ march with a 

knapsack! Your fine cords would soon get a bit rubbed,’ 

said an infantryman, wiping the mud off his face with his 

sleeve. ‘Perched up there, you’re more like a bird than a 

man.’ 

‘There now, Zikin, they ought to put you on a horse. 

You’d look fine,’ said a corporal, chaffing a thin little 

soldier who bent under the weight of his knapsack. 

‘Take a stick between your legs, that’ll suit you for a 

horse!’ the hussar shouted back. 

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